


take my medicine, treat you like adrenaline

by gleesquid



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Hook Up, Light Dom/sub, M/M, One Night Stand, Rimming, Roleplay, Yuletide Treat, very light daddy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 00:31:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17151914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gleesquid/pseuds/gleesquid
Summary: “Every time I even think about dating again, it’s like, ‘oh, there’s MJ’s nose,’ or ‘hey, she has MJ’s eyes.’ I don’t know how to not see her in everyone. I don’t know if I want to.”“You ever figured you’re maybe barking up the wrong tree?”Peter furrowed his brow. “Explain.”“Well, ya know.” Harry sipped his martini. “There’s a larger dating pool out there than you’d think. With people who will not remind you of MJ.”Or: After the divorce, Peter tries for a rebound.





	take my medicine, treat you like adrenaline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Traincat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/gifts).



> This is set in the Spider-Verse universe, but not very 616-based, given there's a 13-ish year age difference between Peter and Johnny. 
> 
> Title from "Medicine" by Harry Styles, but I changed the lyrics slightly to fit my purposes.
> 
> Happy Yuletide!

Lights are flashing, some old bubblegum pop song is playing, and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing here.

God, this is so stupid. It’s crazy. What is he doing here? 

 

“You need a rebound,” Harry had said, martini sloshing in his hand. “When Liz and I got divorced for the second time, I just slept around with anyone who’d look at me. Did wonders to get her out of my system.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Peter said, tapping on his own unopened coke. “How is Liz, by the way?” 

“Liz!” Harry yelled to the other room. 

“I’m on the phone!” Liz yelled back. 

“Pete wants to know how you are!” 

“Aw, I’m lovely, thank you, Peter!” 

Harry made a gesture like,  _ see,  _ but Peter did not know what he was supposed to be seeing.

“I just don’t know, Hare,” Peter said. He shook the coke, just a little, just enough that Harry wouldn’t notice. “Every time I even think about dating again, it’s like, ‘oh, there’s MJ’s nose,’ or ‘hey, she has MJ’s eyes.’ I don’t know how to not see her in every one. I don’t know if I want to.” 

“You ever figured you’re maybe barking up the wrong tree?” 

Peter furrowed his brow. “Explain.” 

“Well, ya know.” Harry sipped his martini. “There’s a larger dating pool out there than you’d think. With people who will not remind you of MJ.” 

Peter shook the coke again. “You speaking from experience, bud?” 

Harry sipped the martini. “Human beings are vast and unknowable creatures, Pete. You never know what you might learn about yourself if you give yourself a chance.” 

Peter thought about it. He couldn’t believe he was thinking about it. 

“Hey, buddy, could you open this for me?” Peter asked, handing Harry the coke. 

 

So now he’s here in a place he never thought he’d be because he can’t get Harry fuckin’ Osborn’s stupid fuckin’ words out of his head. That if he wants to move on from MJ then he has to try moving on with someone he’d never try otherwise. 

He was the one who left her. Why is this so hard? 

It’s not that he’s never thought about it. Who hasn’t thought about it? He’d have to be blind to not notice the body on Flash Thompson, but they had way too much history to ever cross that bridge. And there was this intern at the Bugle a while back, this eager kid with messy hair and an earring, and Peter found himself . . . wondering, just a little. But in the end, it was MJ. It was always MJ.

“Looking good, daddy,” says a voice next to him. Peter’s eyes drift to the guy next to him -- the kid next to him, eyeing him up and down. 

“How old are you?” Peter asks and he can’t help it -- he laughs. He feels bad when the kid’s face shutters immediately. “Look, I’m sorry, just -- go home, kid. You need money for a cab? Here, I’ll get you some --,” 

“Save it,” snaps the kid and he muscles his way back into the crowd of dancers. 

Peter runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Stupid,” he mutters. “Stupid idiot, go home, Peter, what are you even doing here, go punch a neo-Nazi instead, you big jerk.”

“First time?” 

Peter jerks, turning around. Sitting next to him at the bar is a man (duh, they’re all men), but there’s something different about this one. He’s young, older than the kid, but still can’t be older than twenty-five. He wears a pale pink turtleneck and form-fitting jeans rolled up at the ankles and expensive-looking boat shoes without socks. He’s golden all over and heart-achingly familiar. Something about him makes Peter want to look and look and look. 

“Uh, yeah,” says Peter, remembering the guy asked him a question. “You?” 

“No,” says the guy with a smile and god. Jeez. Okay. 

This is happening. 

“Am I that green?” asks Peter, turning his body to face.

“No. Just, turning down that kid. It was decent. You spend enough time in the bars, you see plenty of people who aren’t decent.”

“I’d hardly call trying not to unintentionally commit statutory rape decent, but thanks.” Peter licks his lips, suddenly unsure. He thinks the guy’s eyes track the movement.

“So . . .” says Peter. 

“Wanna buy me a drink?” asks the guy. 

“Yes! I mean, yeah, absolutely, I wanna buy you a drink. Hey, uh, bartender?” The bartender ambles over. “Can you get my friend here, uh --” 

“Raspberry cosmo, please.” 

The bartender heads off and the guy shoots Peter another winning smile. 

“What’s your name?” asks Peter. 

“Johnny,” he says. “You?”

“Peter.” 

Something suddenly occurs to Peter. But that’d be crazy. Right? 

“You’re not Johnny  _ Storm _ , are you?” asks Peter. “From those Fantastic Four guys?” 

Johnny ducks his head. “That’s me.” 

Wow. It would be impossible not to know who the Fantastic Four are, even for someone who didn’t literally swing beside them most days. They were a bit after his time -- everyone was a bit after his time -- and so he never got too close. But it was still goddamn cool to be in the presence of another superhero. Especially since the Fantastic Four were way less annoying than those Avengers guys who showed up every now and then. 

“Pretty cool,” says Peter. “Man. I didn’t know Johnny Storm was . . . I mean --,” 

“It’s fine. But it’s not really something I want in magazines, you know?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Totally.” 

The bartender sets down the cosmo. Johnny begins to drink it. His lips look obscenely red and Peter thinks they’re both here, they’re both adult men, his life in shambles, and he might as well just say what he wants. 

“Look,” says Peter. “Pardon for saying this, or don’t, whatever, but I just have to tell you that you are the most gorgeous goddamn sun of a human being that I have had the pleasure to lay eyes on in what feels like lifetimes. I know we just met literally two minutes ago but I’ve been going through a lot lately, and I kind of felt like, if I didn’t tell you that, I might die. So. There you go.” 

Johnny stares at him with wide eyes. He sets his cosmo on the table. 

“You know,” he says with a slight lift to the corner of his lips, “as far as pickup lines go, that’s not the worst I’ve heard.” 

 

Johnny’s lips are hot and his tongue is hot and he’s so  _ hot _ . 

“Oh, baby,” Peter mumbles against those hot, sweet lips. “Oh, god, you’re so good at that.” 

He squeezes Johnny’s ass and Johnny squeaks, just a little, and it’s so goddamn cute. 

Peter unsticks their faces enough to recognize the apartments they’re driving past. 

“Hey, hey, right here’s good,” he tells the cabbie. He shoves a wad of cash in his direction while Johnny opens the door. 

“That’s it?” asks the cabbie, counting the money. “I watched you grope that kid for the last half hour.” 

“Consider it your tip,” says Peter, sliding out of the cab and slamming the door behind him. And then he’s slamming Johnny up against the nearest brick wall, his lips on Johnny’s neck. 

“Anyone could see us,” gasps Johnny 

“Mm, I know,” Peter hums against his. He sucks on the clavicle. “What would they think to see beautiful, golden playboy superhero Johnny Storm being mauled by dirty old me?” 

Johnny laughs breathlessly. 

Peter hooks his hands under Johnny’s thighs and then lifts him in one movement. He thrills at the sound of air whooshing from Johnny’s lungs as Johnny’s legs lock around his waist. 

“Strong,” is all Johnny says, staring into Peter’s eyes. 

“I know,” says Peter, and maybe he’s showing off just a little when he takes the stairs to get to his apartment. 

Once Peter has the door open, he’s kicking away pizza boxes and old jeans. It’s possible they should have just gone to Johnny’s place, but Peter’s is closer, and in the moment, it felt so urgent. It still feels urgent, if he’s being honest. He dumps Johnny on the rickety couch, unable to even think about making it to the bedroom (and maybe he hasn’t even put sheets on the mattress yet). 

Peter stares at Johnny staring up at him. 

“This is crazy,” he says. “I never do anything like this.” 

“Guys?” asks Johnny. 

“Anyone. I was married. For a long time.” 

Johnny props himself on his elbows. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. And I’m not sure -- I just don’t know if --,” 

“It’s okay if you’re not ready,” says Johnny and he makes a move as if to roll off the couch but Peter puts his hands on his shoulders, holding him down. 

“I want you desperately,” says Peter. “Please let me want you.” 

Johnny’s pupils are blown wide. He nods. 

Peter hooks his fingers under the hem of Johnny’s turtleneck. 

“Careful,” says Johnny. “It’s Armani.” 

“I don’t know who that is,” Peter says, just to see Johnny roll his eyes. 

He pulls the turtleneck off of him and then it’s just -- abs. Abs everywhere. 

“How old are you, Johnny Storm?” Peter asks, tracing each individual ab with the tips of his fingers. 

“Twenty-four,” says Johnny as his eyes flutter shut. His stomach flexes beneath Peter’s touch. 

Jesus. 

“I don’t -- I gotta be honest with you, buddy, I think I looked like this at twenty-four too, but not anymore.” 

Johnny opens his eyes. “Maybe I like the way you look.”

And oh. Okay. 

Peter begins to unbutton his shirt, Johnny watches. 

“Should I put on a little ‘Careless Whisper?’” Peter asks, swivelling his hips a bit.

“You sure talk a lot,” says Johnny, but he’s chewing on his lip as Peter drops the shirt. 

Johnny draws himself onto his knees and then they’re kissing again, skin to skin. He can feel Johnny’s hard on through layers of denim. It’s not as weird and he thought it would be. 

“You’re so sexy,” Johnny breathes against his lips. 

“You have no idea,” says Peter. And then he’s twisting Johnny around and bending him over the arm of the sofa, all before Johnny can even realize what’s happening. 

“Belt,” says Peter and Johnny, like a good boy, whips it right off. Peter reaches around to unzip and then he’s pulling Johnny’s pants and briefs down in one go so there’s nothing between him and Johnny’s gorgeous ass. 

“Look at that tush,” says Peter. He slaps it lightly, playfully, just to see it bounce and hear Johnny gasp. “I think she likes me.” 

“Why is my ass a girl?” Johnny asks. 

“Habit, I guess,” says Peter. He leans forward and lick a stripe right up the middle. 

“Oh, my god.” Johnny is practically vibrating. He’s warm all over. Right to the center of him. “That’s a pretty bold move for a first-timer.” 

“You didn’t know my wife.” 

Peter kisses Johnny’s hole once, twice, three times, and then he licks a wide circle around it, and again. 

“Peter, please,” Johnny whines and Peter takes pity on him before beginning to lick inside. 

As he works Johnny open with his tongue and his fingers, he pays attention to the noises Johnny likes. The gasps that means he likes it. The whines that mean he  _ really  _ likes it. Files them away for later. 

And then he realizes he’s thinking there’s going to be a later. 

He needs to get out of his head. 

Peter comes up for air. He puts a hand in Johnny’s air and pulls him up with him, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough to let him know who’s in charge here. He thinks he’s reading he the signs and he thinks he knows what the kid wants. 

“So?” Peter asks, reaching around to stroke Johnny’s cock. “What do you want to call me?” 

“Hmm?” Johnny asks, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Well, you know, obviously I’ve got a whole vibe that you’re digging. Usually that means something.” He fishes a condom out of his pants pocket and hands it to Johnny. “Open this for me, love.” 

As he watches Johnny shakily rip open the condom, Peter undoes his belt and pushes his pants down his thighs. Not all the way off. Just enough. 

Johnny hands him the condom and he slips it on his cock. He sidles right up against Johnny and begins to push in. 

“Tight fit, huh?” Peter says. “Maybe it’s your first time.” 

Johnny shakes his head. “You’re just big.” 

“Flatterer.” Peter kisses a freckle on Johnny’s shoulder. “So?” he asks, partly to distract from any pain Johnny might be feeling. “What’ll it be?” 

“What are you even talking about?” 

“C’mon. Don’t be scared. Call me whatever you need to get off. Maybe it’s ‘sir.’” He gives Johnny’s cock a long, slow tug. “I’m your aloof boss with a wandering eye. You’ve had your eye on a promotion. I call you to my office one day. Tell you to close the door. You know what I want.” 

Johnny shakes his head, but Peter catches sight of a smile. “That’s so not PC.” 

“Gosh, I’d say we’re long past PC, babe.” Peter pulls out, almost to the tip. “Or maybe you’d like to call me ‘Mr. Parker.’” He thrusts back in and Johnny  _ quakes.  _ “Every day, you have to watch me teach physics and shit all sexy upfront, never noticing you despite the devilish way you suck on your pencil all through class. Then one day you get a C on a test.” 

“Why’d I get a C, Mr. Parker?” Johnny asks. His head falls back onto Peter’s shoulder. “What can I do to change your mind?” 

“What can’t you do?” Peter kisses him. “Or maybe it’s ‘daddy.’” 

“Stop,” Johnny gasps. 

Peter freezes. “Stop?” 

“No,” says Johnny. “No, god, please, keep going.” 

Peter begins to thrust quicker. “You’ve been going through your rebellious phase. Stealing cooking out of cookie jars and shit.” 

“I need to be punished, Daddy,” Johnny says, and then he bursts out laughing. “I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t believe this is turning me on.” 

“And yet here lieth the evidence,” says Peter, stroking Johnny cock. “God, you’re nearly bursting. Let go for me, baby. I’ve got you, honey, I promise, I’ve got you, just let go.” 

Johnny breathes in sharply and Peter can feel his cock pulse and his ass flex before the come shoots across Peter’s already dubiously stained couch. 

“Atta boy,” says Peter. He pushes on Johnny’s neck so Johnny bends over again and then Peter just go to town, thrusting in and out, in and out, past the point of words. Just two bodies, doing the oldest thing two bodies have ever done together. 

“Right there, Daddy,” Johnny mumbles into the couch and just like that, Peter is coming too, a burst of white hot energy within him, that goes straight through and into Johnny. And then it’s over. 

He pulls out of Johnny carefully, ties off the condom, and tosses it near the trash can. He misses, but can’t be bothered to get up. 

“That’s disgusting,” said Johnny as Peter curls himself around his back. “I think you’re a bit disgusting.” 

“Next time you can can call me Mr. Fantastic,” says Peter and even if Johnny ony kisses him to shut him up, he’s still content to kiss until they fall asleep. 

 

When Peter wakes, Johnny is gone. He has a blanket pulled over his body, but it’s threadbare, and somehow colder than he’d been without it. 

He stands and stretches and tells himself he’s not disappointed. He’d gotten what he needed. Nothing more, nothing less. 

As he makes his way to the fridge for some OJ, he notices a note taped to the door in lovely writing:  _ If you never realize you’re still in love with your wife, you can usually find me at the Baxter Building in Manhattan. I’d love to see you again sometime, Mr. Parker.     Xoxo -- J  _

Peter doesn’t think he’ll ever meet Johnny again. It was a one time thing. That’s what he wanted. He doesn’t need to go jumping into anything so soon, and he doesn’t need to realize he’s still in love with his wife when he already knows he is. The whole thing is a disaster in the making. 

But, he tells himself, as he carefully untapes the note and sticks it to the ceiling above his unmade mattress, right next to the picture of MJ he has taped up there, there’s no harm in a little sentimentality.


End file.
